I am becoming one with this chair
she mused to herself
slipping into lethargy
I am melding with the metal and musty fabric
she yawned behind her lips
sinking into lassitude
I am fading into dusty browns and caustic brickish reds
she sighed long and quiet
seeping into lovely
nothing
Oblivion is sometimes a thing I crave. Sometimes not. I cannot tell what the speaker here thinks except that losing consciousness is better than being conscious of something very dull?
ReplyDeleteWell, at least you got some good poetry out of it.